Once Upon a Rake Read online

  Once Upon a Rake

  Samantha Holt

  Copyright 2014 ©Samantha Holt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Yorkshire, England 1853

  Lucian winced as Ellie’s high-pitched voice grated down his spine. He tucked himself further around the side of the house and hoped the shadows hid him from her. Unfortunately the little lanterns scattered around the gardens for the ball destroyed any hopes of remaining hidden. The warm glow—while romantic—lit most parts of the path that trailed around the Elizabethan home.

  Damn and blast, he should have asked Lady Clarissa to meet him in the maze or by the gazebo. That would have been equally romantic, if a little shady. But certainly less chance of being caught by Miss Eleanor Browning, the seventeen-year-old daughter of the hosts for the evening, Lord and Lady Browning.

  His name echoed into the night and he shrank around the corner of the building. Here, the glow from the windows highlighted him, but if he went any farther he would have no chance of spotting Clarissa as she slipped out of the ballroom to join him for their rendezvous.

  Clarissa was softening, he was sure of it. Tonight, he was certain to get a kiss at the very least. Maybe even a feel of that divine figure the widow failed to hide under layers of tulle and silk. Before long, he’d have her stripped down and writhing in his bed. The elegant woman would be spilling his name from her lips and begging him for more.

  He grinned to himself and curled a fist in anticipation, feeling the warm stirrings of desire as he pictured her, flushed and naked against his bed sheets. He had been pursuing her for nigh on a month now. A hard nut to crack that one, but thoroughly worth it. There was, after all, not a deluge of attractive, experienced widows in the country, so one had to make the most of the opportunity when one was presented with one.

  A flurry of bright pink skirts and frizzy hair came dashing up to him, and Lucian groaned inwardly. This was not the sight he’d been hoping for. He had wanted to see the dark, expressive eyes of Clarissa, not these insipid grey things staring up at him with all the adoration of a child thanking her father for her latest pony.

  “Lucian, here you are. Will you not return to the ballroom? The next dance is on,” Ellie said breathlessly.

  He clenched his jaw. He’d already taken one dance with her—at his mother’s persuasion—even with the knowledge one dance would never be enough for Ellie. She had trailed after him like a lost puppy for several years now. At three and twenty, he had little interest in a mere child and certainly not an irritating one like Ellie. But his mother had known she would struggle for dance partners and had pushed him to lead her out for the first dance in the hopes other men might follow suit.

  What a damn fool. He should have known it would only encourage her. Their families had been close for many years though even his mother would not wish for him to make a match with Ellie. His mother had hopes of him marrying higher than his father’s rank. The daughter of a duke perhaps or...by God, royalty would probably be her preference.

  “Well, Lucian?” Ellie prompted and tugged on his arm.

  “I’m taking some air,” he replied gruffly.

  There, that would frighten the chit off.

  But instead, she looped her arm through his, near forcing it through, and gazed up at him. “Well, I shall join you then. It is a might stuffy in there and the evening is so very beautiful.”

  It was. Hence why he had high hopes for breaking through Clarissa’s reserves. Candlelight, the scent of honeysuckle in the air, stars above...the fates had aligned perfectly to give him this elegant setting in which to meet the woman he would make his lover and yet...

  Ellie.

  The damned girl was determined to ruin everything. She was like a shadow. An ugly shadow. Lucian glanced down at her and tried to find something attractive in there, something to lessen his annoyance, but there was nothing. His mother would scold him, telling him she had taught him better and to look for the beauty within, but what use was inner beauty when all he wished to do was enjoy the outer.

  His father’s health was declining. Before long, he would be the Viscount Rushbourne and his life as a rake would be at an end. If he was to enjoy himself before the tireless duties of a viscount were upon him, then he did not need to be looking for inner beauty.

  “You should return to the ballroom,” he said stiffly. “No doubt there are many gentlemen lacking a partner.”

  “Oh hardly. Mama says the balance is not very good this summer. Too many women and not enough men. I have been sitting out the past two dances. I told her that would never have happened had you been present and I simply didn’t know where you were, so I came in search of you.”

  He twisted in an attempt to disengage her arm from his and only managed to draw her close as he turned to face her. He eyed the riot of curls piled atop her head. With its dull, straw-like colour, he had never seen her hair look more like a haystack than today. The pink gown did nothing for her reed like figure—no amount of ruffles could disguise her lack of breasts—and her small features peeked out from under those curls like...well, like a damned scarecrow.

  Yes, a scarecrow, that’s what she reminded him of. Perhaps that was uncharitable of him, but at the present, he didn’t much care. He longed to be touching the glossy dark curls of Lady Clarissa and slipping his hands around her neck to be breathing in her fragrance. The only scent that reached him now was an overpowering scent of jasmine.

  “You should not be out here alone,” he tried again.

  “Oh, but I’m not alone. You are here.”

  “Precisely.”

  She giggled. “I do not think you would do anything untoward.”

  Lucian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. How she avoided every rumour—true, and not so true—about him, he did not know. Ellie was in total ignorance of his reputation somehow. But everyone else knew it well and to be caught outside with him could potentially mean her ruination. More likely her mother would drag her in and scold her, but the danger was there. How typical of Ellie not to think. Throughout the years he’d known her, he had witnessed her impulsive, silly streak over and over.

  “It does not matter if I would actually do anything untoward, you should not be out here alone. Return now and maybe you can secure yourself a partner for the next dance. My feet are sore and I’m wearied.”

  “Poor Lucian. You are so much in demand that the ladies have turned you into an old man before your time,” she teased.

  Lucian didn’t respond with anything but a glare, though it seemed to go unnoticed. “Ellie,” he warned on a growl, “return to the ballroom.”

  A crease appeared between her brows and she took her arm from his, only to place her hand on his chest. “Are you not well? You seem terribly out of sorts.”

  “I am perfectly well,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  Or at least he would be once he’d rid himself of this scarecrow and replaced it with an elegant, exotic bird of paradise who would more than match him in looks. How Ellie ever thought she would interest him, he had no idea. They were as far apart in looks as... as a scarecrow and a mannequin in London’s finest clothing emporium. He, dark and refined, perfectly poised and immaculately dressed, and she, looking as though she had just been dragged from the nearest field.

  Yes, he
was being uncharitable, he admitted, but damnation, the widow could be here at any moment. Weeks of work were about to be destroyed by this silly little girl.

  “Ellie,” he said more calmly, in the hopes she might see reason, “it is improper for you to be out here with me. Go inside before either of our mothers catch us.”

  “I should not like to leave you if you’re sickening.”

  “Ellie...” This time he didn’t even manage to hide his growl of frustration. The word came out like a curse. “Did it not occur to you that you are putting your innocence at risk by being out here with me?”

  “My innocence?” She gaped up at him.

  Ah, now he had her attention. He leaned over her, gradually pressing her back with his mere presence. She stumbled back—one step, then two.

  “The night is dark and beautiful.” He lowered his voice. “Flowers scent the air and the stars twinkle overhead. I have indulged in wine and my veins run warm with it.” He urged her further until she gasped when her back met the outside wall of the building.

  She put a hand to his chest to hold him back. “I am not afraid of you.” Ellie smiled but he saw the nervous flicker on her lips. “I know you, Lucian. You may act the rake but you’re honourable at heart.”

  “I am nothing of the sort.” He swiped aside her hand and closed the gap, flattening himself against her. He felt the sharp intake of breath and the way her body quivered. “You should not tempt a man like me.”

  “T-tempt?”

  “If you’re not careful, I shall have no choice but to kiss you. I suggest you leave now, before I do something we shall both regret.”

  He noted the way her throat worked. Really he should back off and release her, but something in him wanted her to wriggle against him and work her way out. Why the devil should he want that bony body squirming against his? Perhaps he really was a little foxed.

  And then he saw the change in her eyes. They grew smoky. No longer dull. Her lips parted in silent invitation. Damnation. This was not how this was meant to happen.

  Lucian bore over her, affecting his darkest, most viscount-like look. One that told a person they were nought more than a speck of dust on his dinner jacket. He’d seen his father use it to full effect and occasionally used it himself to frighten away any ladies who thought they might join him in his bed for longer than a few nights.

  “Do not mistake me, Ellie. If I kiss you it would be from mere boredom.” There. The smoky haze had vanished. She was back to being an annoying child who had insisted on tugging at his sleeve for too many years. Better she see him for the person he was now rather than later.

  “Lucian?”

  “I am no more attracted to you than I am to my...my horse,” he declared, getting into the spirit of things. “I make no habit of kissing or even bedding innocents, particularly not ones like yourself. So be a good girl and run along. Go find another man to pester. May I suggest one who is particularly foxed?”

  Ellie gasped, pain radiated from her expression. If he thought about it, the odd sensation pulling at his gut was too close to guilt. But he was saving her from himself. She saw him as some sort of hero. A knight in shining armour. Really he was doing her a favour. Now she would be wary of all rakes and find herself a gentleman who might appreciate her for whatever redeeming features she had. There had to be something about her someone would like, surely?

  Still she stared and still he hadn’t backed away. Her chest rose and fell against his. He spied dampness in her eyes before she lowered her lids to try to hide it. Lucian pressed a hand to the sandstone wall, ready to push away and then...

  Then the strangest thing happened. She lifted her lashes, which were surprisingly thick and curly if he thought about it, and secured that drab grey gaze of hers on his. But he could not stare for long. For some inexplicable reason, his gaze fell to her lips.

  And he leaned in.

  And kissed her.

  Ellie drew in a breath as his lips met hers. He tasted sugar on her lips. They were soft, small, fragile. His hand came away from the wall and clasped the back of her neck to hold her in place. Vaguely, he noted her fingers had come up to curl into the lapels of his dinner jacket. Was she trying to push him away? His mind had shut down. What was this scarecrow’s lips doing to him?

  That skinny body began squirming, breaking the spell and he heard his name—a muffled protest against his lips. He had to stop. And he did, but it was too late.

  “What the deuce do you think you are doing?” a gruff, very angry sounding voice rang out.

  Lucian lifted his head to the see the Baron—her father—striding towards him. He swung his gaze to Ellie, whose cheeks were flushed and whose hands were trembling, and back to her furious father, whose face was red enough to match the colour of the strawberry jelly they had been served that evening.

  His insides shrivelled a little. Now he was in big trouble. He was going to be forced to marry a scrawny scarecrow. Damn his luck.

  Chapter One

  A Reckless Rake

  Seven Years Later

  The cabriolet barrelled along the old country road, a blur of yellow and black against the green hills, seeming to hit every stone and bump. It kicked up dust as it went. Eleanor found her heart in her throat as she pushed her horse to keep up. The weather had stayed dry for over a week now, leaving the roads solid and powdery. Would the occupant push the vehicle so recklessly on wet ground?

  Knowing the occupant, likely so. He had always been reckless. She doubted seven years had changed him. Drawing in a breath and giving Blossom a tap to her flanks, she urged the horse on and prayed her riding hat did not fly from her head. If any of her acquaintances saw her now, they would not believe their eyes. Of course, she had left them all behind in France. None of her old friends from England would be surprised to see her in disarray with her hat falling from her head and her curls springing from her head like a jack-in-the-box.

  Nor would Lord Lucian Deverill, Viscount of Rushbourne. He had always thought her a mess, she knew that much. What a shame it had taken her so long to realise that all those long looks had been looks of disgust, and not admiration. And now fate had thrown them together once more by way of her late husband’s business dealings.

  If she ever caught up with him. She was at a disadvantage with her side saddle and only one horse. His two horses could outrace her with ease, but she had it on good authority that Lord Rushbourne liked to stop at a pub at the crossroads on his journeys out. The housekeeper had taken pity on her when she had been turned away from the Rushbourne estate for the third time with claims the viscount was not around. More likely, he refused to see her. He would not even answer her letters.

  She wouldn’t be dismissed so easily this time.

  The ramshackle tavern—The Eight Bells, the housekeeper had informed her—came into view. From far away, it was pretty. Perhaps even twee. But as she drew closer, signs of neglect began to show. The stone wall around it was worn and crumbling. The windows needed new paint and the sign only had two bells on it. The rest were worn away by poor weather, leaving no more than a few flecks of paint.

  Such was the unforgiving nature of the Yorkshire countryside. While the rare spot of sunshine warmed her through her mauve riding jacket, nothing could keep out the winds that normally blustered along the open stretches of land. It smoothed the rocks and pushed the dust into hills. Not even nature could compete with such weather, let alone an inn created by man’s hands.

  Eleanor’s sense of misgiving vanished as she spotted the cabriolet parked around the side of the building near the stables. The horses were gone, presumably being tended to by a stable hand. Lucian had to be inside.

  She spotted the stable boy whose brows rose under his flat cap when he saw her. He hastily pulled out a set of steps and placed them beside her as she brought her horse around the dilapidated wall. Shoulders straight, chin lifted, she pretended she had an audience of thousands and slid from the horse with grace.

  It took every
ounce of her concentration to do so. None of it came naturally to her. Every movement had to be carefully planned or it was likely she would spill onto the ground at any moment. A task as simple as walking proved difficult for Eleanor. Not even a title such as countess could change her clumsy temperament. One would think after seven years of pretending to be elegant and graceful, it would be second nature, but alas it was not.

  “Will you feed and water her, please?” she asked the boy before digging into her purse and withdrawing a shilling to press into his grubby palm.

  His eyes widened at the sight of the money and Eleanor concluded the patrons of the inn were likely usually travellers on foot or locals. She had spied no other horses around, indicating most customers were poor and this was not on a well-travelled route. Those journeying down the country to London would take the better roads whilst those on foot might prefer the direct cut across the moors.

  Blossom didn’t really need any food or water. The inn was only some three miles from Hawthorne Hall, but who knew how long she might be here. If she tracked down Lucian, she had high hopes of speaking with him about the shares she had in his printing factory and how she might play a role in the business. Her late husband owned a large percentage of his business in Lancashire and as such, she hoped her opinion might be heard now those shares had been passed over to her.

  A wave of grief washed over her at the thought of Edward being gone. She had been out of mourning for five months now and in England for three of those. It had taken her a while to make arrangements to tie up all her loose ends in France. She had let their home in Paris, not seeing a reason to keep it empty. She couldn’t see herself returning to the place where she had nursed Edward through the last months of his life. He had been a dear old man and a good friend. Life without him seemed really quite lonely.

  Eleanor huffed out a breath and eyed the open doorway of the inn. Low rumbling voices and the occasional burst of male laughter reverberated from inside. Shadows haunted that chipped doorway. Scuffs of wood had splintered off the doorframe and she suspected the damage could well be from brawling and customers being thrown out, rather than mere weather damage.